


Too Much

by Aid0Ink



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oneshot, Sometimes Matt is overwhelmed, Vladimir Ranskahov Lives, kind of, unspecified timeframe, well I assume fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aid0Ink/pseuds/Aid0Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are days when everything is too much for Matt. Those are the days that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen loses his title. He's simply in Hell. He has the unlikeliest of angels to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd, any mistakes are my own.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://therightfulkingofassgard.tumblr.com/)

There are days when it’s too much. When the city seems set to drive him insane and there is a constant mantra of _too much, everything, make it stop_ in Matt’s head. The air tastes bitter, the noise threatens to split his head in two, and the flames become an inferno. There are days when Matt isn’t the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He’s simply in Hell. Today was one of those days. Matt knew it before he opened his eyes to see nothing at all and before he tried to soldier through the morning. Vladimir suspected it when Matt didn’t come into the kitchen. He knew it when he heard the sobs.

Vladimir tiptoed to the door of the bedroom he shared with the vigilante. Opened the door in such a way that it wouldn’t creak and stopped just over the threshold.

The silken sheets were thrown off the bed, the feeling of them on Matt’s skin too rough today. Similarly Matt’s phone was nowhere to be seen. Matt himself was a ball of tension, corded muscles tensed and his hands clapped over his ears as if he could block out the noise.

“Matt?” Vladimir said softly. Not soft enough, Matt flinched. On days like this the ex-criminal was never sure what to do. Whether he would be pushed away due to the _Too much_ sensation as Matt put it, or accepted as a welcome distraction and fixed point to cling to in the chaos.

The decision wasn’t his to make.

“Vladimir, please.” Breathless Matt’s voice carried “Make it stop.” The last word ended on a sob. Vladimir rounded the side of the bed, ready to climb in when he remembered and pulled his shirt hastily over his head. Once the fabric was gone he shifted to pull his lover into his arms. Matt, strong, bring him back from the brink of death even when he wasn’t worthy of it Matt, cried out. Tears hit Vladimir’s skin and he had to force himself not to tighten his grip on the smaller man more than he already had. He buried his nose in the unruly strands of Matt’s hair, he couldn’t save his brother, he couldn’t take this pain away, but he could offer distraction. So he did.

He talked, lowly, gently, letting his thumb stroke in soothing patterns over Matt’s ribs as the man cried. “Have I told you about the dog we had in Moscow?” Matt shifted a bit so Vladimir continued. “We named him король. He was Siberian Laika.” Vladimir continued talking, about how he and Anatoly were raised, their homeland, the games they would play as children. As he spoke he began straying more and more from English, the Russian flowing smoothly from his tongue. Matt was calming some; losing himself in the foreign but familiar language, the sound of Vladimir’s voice as it rose and fell. The flames were dying down.

A gunshot went off down the street, a few blocks perhaps and Matt couldn’t help but cry out. His body curling tighter, or it would have but Vladimir was there. One hand running up and down Matt’s back as he continued talking. Matt heard Vladimir’s heart beat speed up before his voice began to raise. Fisk and Anatoly’s names began appearing more frequently and the word revenge, a word Matt had caught onto fairly quickly. The pitch of the Russian’s voice didn’t bother him; he expected it, it helped to drown out the cacophony the rest of the world was making. The steady thrum of Vladimir’s pulse, the rise and fall of his chest, the breaths that ruffled Matt’s hair, they all helped him to focus. They allowed himself to uncurl and trail tentative and sensitive fingertips over Vlad’s skin. To feel the change in texture where the dark ink of tattoos turned his lover’s skin into a canvas. One Matt could touch, could see and admire.  It was a while before Vladimir fell quiet again, each word calmer than the last. His voice turning back to a whisper fit for secrets in the dark.

“Matt, are you okay?” The fingers tracing Matt’s spine stilled and he shifted. He pulled back enough that Vladimir could see his face, the tracks where tears had made their way across his cheeks and he brushed the pad a one thumb over them.

“I” Matt’s voice broke “I will be.” He went to sit up, but Vladimir pulled him back.

“It is evening дорогой дьявол. Lay a while, rest.”

“You should eat.” Matt says futilely.

“We will have food later. I am fine.” He wrapped his arms back around the vigilante. "Stay."

Sometimes Matt was in Hell. Sometimes Vladimir was his Heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> I used an online translator for the Russian bits, if I am wrong on anything please let me know.
> 
> король - King  
> дорогой дьявол - Dear Devil


End file.
